


Canary in a Coal Mine

by Monna99



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26331052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monna99/pseuds/Monna99
Summary: Hughie curls toward him ever so slightly, like a sunflower grasping desperately at the last rays of the setting sun. It’s pathetic for a grown man to need as much as Hughie does.
Relationships: Billy Butcher/Hughie Campbell
Comments: 36
Kudos: 514





	1. Chapter 1

_He’s your canary._

Butcher keeps the grimace off his face as Hughie glances up at him. The kid’s at the end of his rope. He’s lost everyone who gave his life meaning. Lost himself, too. And suicidal fucking idiot that he is, he’d stayed behind in that wrecked boat even knowing damn well it meant death. But there’s somethin’ new in that gaze now. A tiny glimmer, a microscopic speck of something like hope. It makes Butcher itch to see it. 

“ _Mon Coeur_ , come, you must rest.”

Butcher's gaze shifts to Frenchie who pulls the supe to her feet, leading her into the single, wardrobe-sized bedroom. Unlike Hughie's, her eyes are filled with fire, with the all-encompassing rage of loss that he can understand only too well. It’s been his driving force, too. More so now than ever. He won’t let anyone or anything stand in the way of his goal. He’ll sacrifice everyone around him if he has to. He will. Except ... he looks at the kid again to find that clouded stare still focused on him. Hughie curls toward him ever so slightly, like a sunflower grasping desperately at the last rays of the setting sun. It’s pathetic for a grown man to need as much as Hughie does. Butcher doesn’t have the time or the patience for that shit. He’s not a goddamn babysitter. He’s going to get up off the damned couch and leave the kid to figure out his own shit. 

He’s leaving. 

_Now._

_Right goddamn now._

He’s at least going to put some space between them.

Hughie leans even closer so that the curls at the top of his head brush against Butcher’s arm. 

Fuckin’ hell. Fuckin’ Mother’s Milk and all that bollocks the man can talk. He’s gotten into Butcher’s head again. 

“Goddamn it,” he bites out quietly, bitterly. Hughie blinks at him, past the point of exhaustion, past the point of breaking and Butcher sighs. “Shove over, will you?” He pushes and prods until the kid makes room but he still only sits with his hands hanging like dead things between his knees. He’s gone back to staring at nothing. At least he’s not covered in blood and guts anymore. Not his hair and face anyway, his clothes are fucked. Much like they all are. He glances back but M.M. is already kipped out on the floor at the far end of the room, back turned to them. Cagey bastard, he just doesn’t wanna deal with the fallout of their broken boy. Even the soft murmurs from the bedroom have ceased and the only noise is Hughie’s quickening breaths. “Oi, calm the fuck down,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Get a grip, mate.”

Hughie refuses to listen which is no surprise. The kid will defy him to the bitter end so Butcher stops playing nice and grabs the kid’s shirt, ripping it over his head and shoving him down onto his back. It finally gets him a reaction.

“What the fuck--!?” Hughie growls, coming up sputtering and indignant. “You asshole--!”

“Yeah, I’m a cunt, I know,” Butcher says over him, unrepentant, stripping off his own gory shirt. “Now make room.”

That gets Hughie’s attention. “Room?” His mouth drops open. “Hell no! Find somewhere else to sleep.” He stretches out his legs, taking up as much space as he can. “The couch is mine.”

It’s almost cute that little Hughie thinks he stands a chance in hell against the big bad butcher. “Really? You wanna do this now, Princess? Wanna go a couple rounds?” Not that it would take more than one for Butcher to lay him out. 

It takes another second of glaring, but finally, Hughie deflates and he shakes his head, shifting to stand up. Butcher clamps his fingers down on the kid’s shoulder and shoves him back down. 

It’s a real tight fit, but he squeezes in behind the kid, pressed up against the back of the sofa, and pulls the kid in close, arm clamped around his waist to keep him still. The naked skin of Hughie's back presses to Butcher's bare chest and Hughie flails in surprise. “Jesus. H. Christ. Will you settle the fuck down?” he grumbles. They’re all beat to hell and back and need a goddamn nap at the very minimum. 

Hughie subsides though he’s tense, his muscles strung tight.

Butcher sighs and it ruffles the little hairs at the nape of the kid’s nape, making him shiver. He’s a warm, solid weight against Butcher and it feels good. Butcher's fingers against that lean chest rise and fall with the kid's breaths. Christ, he’d forgotten just how good it could feel. He stretches and his legs slide along Hughie’s, who shifts, not closer but not away either and Butcher’s hips push forward just enough that Hughie’s ass settles firmly on his crotch. They both still, and Hughie’s breath stops. It’s so goddamn good. Butcher hasn't allowed anyone this close since Becca. He was never interested in anyone else. It’s no different now, he doesn’t want anyone but Becca, except … 

_He’s your canary._

Fuck Mother’s Milk for putting that thought into his goddamned head. He doesn’t need some fuckin’ little whiner to look after. 

It doesn’t stop his arm from tightening, pulling Hughie into himself, his fingers brushing over the fragile flesh of his belly. He feels kid inhale sharply, likely debating whether or not to scream his head off and leap to the other side of the room to bitch to M.M. all about the evil, groping man. Hughie does neither. He grips Butcher’s wrist in a vice clamp, but he doesn’t stop those seeking fingers from caressing his chest and pinching a nipple. Butcher grins at the bitten off gasp, feeling the kid squirm against him. He’s chubbing up in his jeans, cock filling and fattening, pressing into that skinny little ass that he thrusts against because goddamn if he’s going to stop now. His libido is awake and raring to go. 

“You’re fucking crazy,” Hughie breathes, fighting to keep quiet. 

“Nah,” Butcher murmurs, biting his neck then sucking in apology when Hughie jerks, “this is the only sane thing to do now.” He pops the button on the kid’s jeans and lowers the zipper, mindful of the hard cock underneath. Well, now's that's flatterin'. 

“Butcher.” His name’s not a complaint now, it’s a sweet croon, a plea, a cry for more, for harder. 

He reaches into Hughie’s pants, into his underwear and cups him lovingly, squeezes gently so that the kid bucks wildly, nearly pulling them both to the ground. Butcher braces himself and keeps them on the couch, though it’s a near thing. “Easy, Tiger.” He noses at the kid’s cheek, but Hughie is nothing if not stubborn and he refuses to turn his head, refusing to give in. That just won’t do. Butcher stills his hand, fingers curled around that lovely warm cock, thin and long just like the rest of Hughie. The kid whines and thrusts but still won’t turn his head. “You want it?” Butcher mutters against the curve of his ear, “Kiss me.”

It’s sick that he’s making the demand. The kid’s got so many intimacy hangups it’s almost criminal to push him, but Butcher won’t let him stare off into the distance and think of the queen. No, he’s going to make damn sure that Hughie can’t pretend it’s anyone else or pretend that he’s not fully invested in the proceedings. “Come on, doll,” he coaxes, sweet as strychnine pie. He places biting little kisses along that clenched jaw and gives barely-there squeezes to that weeping cock until Hughie breaks, the dam unloading. He shoves an elbow into Butcher, pushing off the couch and shucking his pants before turning and clambering onto him, straddling the older man, fingers shaking and unsteady as they work on the button to Butcher’s trousers. Butcher lets him and cranes his head up to meet the kid’s lips that slam onto his own, too hard, too blunt. He gentles the desperation, groaning when the kid finally pulls him out and wraps a hand around both their cocks, rubbing them together just shy of rough.

“I’m not gay,” he says stupidly against Butcher’s lips, their spit on each other’s tongues. 

“That right?” What the fuck is it with goddamn millennials and their need to give everything a bleedin’ name? Butcher doesn’t give a fuck what they call it, but if the kid gives him blue balls he really will kick his ass this time. Hughie doesn’t bother answering, just dives back in for another kiss, sucking in a shocked little breath when Butcher’s fingers dip into his underwear and his index rubs against his tight little hole. “Want me to stop, then?” Butcher whispers against those flushed, kiss-bitten lips.

Hughie whimpers and throws his head back, pushing against the digit that’s making sharp little bolts of pleasure shoot directly to this dick. “Butcher,” he groans, so lost in it he forgets to be quiet. It occurs to Butcher that there’s no way in fuck that M.M. is sleeping through this, but he still doesn’t push the kid away. 

“Ride me, darlin’,” he orders, knowing the kid is too far gone now to refuse. It still catches him off guard when Hughie gasps and nods, hips bucking, making their cocks slide together with the aid of their own slick. Butcher latches onto the back of Hughie’s neck and drags him close again, sucking on his lips and tongue as he takes them both in one palm and jerks them together in tandem to the kid’s grinding thrusts. It’s been so long he shoots after only a handful of jerks and rubs his come on Hughie’s cock, watching the kid go wild for it, chest heaving, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as he adds his own load to Butcher’s chest and hand. 

Goddamn. 

Butcher listens as Hughie’s pants subside and his breathing eases, fingers rubbing soothingly at the kid’s head. He doesn’t know where the well of tenderness is coming from. Hughie is nothing but a giant pain in his ass and that’s all he’ll continue to be, but his fingers don’t stop their massage as he grabs blindly for one of the shirts on the floor. He manages to awkwardly wipe off the mess between them without unseating the kid. “Okay?” he rumbles.

_He’s your canary._

Hughie is silent for so long Butcher starts getting uneasy, wondering if the kid’s gonna cry or some shit, but after a tense moment Hughie sighs out and settles heavily onto the older man, shifting only a bit to the side, head tucked under Butcher’s chin. His light snores fill the room. 

“You’re such a piece of shit.”

Butcher tucks his sensitive cock back in his trousers and pulls up Hughie’s underwear. Yeah, he’s a piece of shite, but Hughie is his, just like Becca is his, and that means no one gets to take him from Butcher now.

_He’s your canary._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, you all were so incredibly lovely -- seriously, what an amazing fandom -- that I had to give you a teensy bit more of the boys. ❤❤❤❤❤

There’s no confusion when Butcher wakes, no wondering about the weight settled so trustingly against him. There’s also no question as to what woke him. “You get off on watching?” he asks, opening his eyes and smirking at the man glaring down at him, hands on his hips like he’s somebody’s mother. He’s not, no matter his name. “That’s twice now.”

“Goddamn it, Butcher!” MM hisses furiously. “You couldn’t just hire a hooker?”

There’s sound now coming from the bedroom and the last thing he wants is Frenchie on his arse, too. His old contacts have gotten soft -- worse, they’ve gotten protective. “I’ll get ‘em on speed dial,” he agrees with a shit-eating grin. “Someone stupidly idealistic and with a case of hero-worship.” Because, yeah, he can finally place that particular spark in the kid’s eyes from last night. He hadn’t seen it since the first time he’d met Hughie, but he remembers. It makes his jaw clench at the idiocy. The boy still refuses to stand on his own. He wants people, needs to have someone to cling to, like Robin or Annie or maybe someone in whom to believe like MM or Frenchie. It seems he’s decided he wants to believe in Butcher again, wants to cling and trust like he hasn’t learned a goddamned thing. It makes Butcher want to dirty the boy up again, to rough him up a bit just until he doesn’t look at him with those eyes that expect more than Butcher can give.

He ignores the disgusted sneer MM throws at him and eases out from under Hughie who’s attached to him like a limpet. The skin of their bellies is practically glued together and he makes a show of scratching at the dried up spooge until Mother’s Milk stomps past him, shoulder-checking him as he makes his way to the kitchen. Anything in there, Butcher would have no interest in eating so he jumps in the dirty shower and scrubs off the worst of the grime. 

“Where are you going?” MM grumbles when he reaches for the doorknob.

Hughie is sitting up now, yawning and stretching and Butcher sees the exact moment he remembers. He flushes darkly and his gaze drops to his lap, fingers clenching on his bare knees because he’s in nothing but his underwear and his pants are in a heap on the filthy floor. 

“Breakfast,” he grumbles and leaves without a backward glance. 

He comes back to Hughie sitting outside on the stone steps that lead to the dingy little door of their safe-house. He’s wrapped around his phone, whispering into it, his voice low, soothing. “It’s okay. No, I know you didn’t want to-- It wasn’t your fault, you would never--”

Butcher’s across the space before he registers what he plans to do, fury bubbling in his veins. He jerks the phone out of the kid’s grip and chucks the motherfucker full force straight into the cement wall. It explodes on contact. Pieces fly in all directions and a few passerbys freeze, the crunch of plastic and glass echoing. He turns to the kid who’s gaping at him in disbelief and holds up the plastic bag with a wide grin. “Pancakes?”

“What--? Butcher, the fuck did you--?”

He doesn’t stick around for the kid’s little diatribe and shoves open the door. MM is burning something on the stove and Frenchie is still walking on eggshells around his supe girl. He’s a fucking idiot. The supe ain’t about to break. If anything, she’s the most focused she’s ever been. She meets Butcher’s gaze calmly and his hand twitches to the gun at his side. Supes are dangerous, and supes with nothing to lose are a fucking nuclear bomb waiting to obliterate everything and everyone. 

“Hey!” Hughie yells from behind him. 

Frenchie knows what’s coming because he moves to intercept the kid and grabs Hughie’s arm, keeping him from launching himself Butcher. “ _Non, mon petit,_ you must calm yourself.”

“He broke my phone!”

Mother’s Milk steps forward, throwing a kitchen rag over his shoulder. He doesn’t look any happier than Hughie, but he shrugs. “Probably shouldn’t be talking to her right now, kid. It’s not safe.”

“Safe?” He gives a choked laugh, indicating their surroundings. “Of course it’s not safe! It’s never gonna be safe until supe assholes like Homelander are dead or locked up so deep underground there’s no hope of them ever getting out.”

“You little girlfriend is one of those supe assholes,” Butcher reminds him, uncaring of the venomous look Hughie throws at him. 

“Annie isn’t--”

Butcher slams a hand down onto the metal counter. “My mistake, here I thought she was about to kill you when I intervened.” He drops the food onto the breakfast nook and shoves a chair at the kid as he blusters. “Sit down and eat your fucking pancakes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
